Eternal Temptations (The Tempted Series Book 6) (23 page)

I’m hanging onto my sanity by a thread. Between my health scare and learning my father’s dying, I don’t know what to do with myself. One minute I want to lock myself away and cry, the next, I want to scream and hit something. In the end my tears win and I cry for my father, for my mother, and for me and my sister.

Growing up a mobster’s daughter was never easy, me and my sister lived life differently than our friends. We followed a different set of rules than them and were overcompensated for the things we couldn’t do because our father was a dangerous man. Friends never slept over at our house because their parents wouldn’t allow them to, too freaked out by the bullet proof windows and the bodyguards lurking around the front door.

Dating was no picnic either. The few guys brave enough to date us went through the ringer. Look at Anthony for instance, my father fucked him harder than anyone. Then there was the other type of guy that went after the mobster’s daughter, the one who hoped one day to be part of the Pastore organization. Let’s not forget the guys like Rico who used and abused me to get close to my father. That ended in bloodshed.

However, all of those things weren’t as bad as waiting for the dreaded day the inevitable happened and we got the call that daddy’s not coming home. I always thought my father would die just as Mikey’s dad did, caught off guard, shot in the broad day light, his lifeless body lying in a pool of his own blood. If you ask Adrianna, she’d tell you our dad would go down guns blazing until he couldn’t physically pull the trigger anymore.

If someone really wanted to kill daddy, they’d have to blow his trigger finger off.

Those were her exact words.

Surprisingly, we were both wrong and I don’t know if I should be grateful for that. Is suffering from cancer better than dying from a gunshot wound? Which is the lesser of the two evils?

I was just accepting the fact he’d be in prison for the rest of his life, thinking he’d live to a ripe old age and I’d still be able to see him, still be able to speak to him on the phone and even write to him. Bottom line is he’d still be in my life one way or another.

Now I have to get used to the fact my dad is dying and by the time I do he will already be dead and I’ll have to live with the fact I no longer have my father in my life.

It’s a vicious cycle.

I think we all sometimes think about losing our parents; we wonder how we will feel, how our lives will go on and imagine how empty life will be, not just on holidays such as Mother’s Day or Father’s Day but the ordinary days, the days when you get a speeding ticket and you want to vent to your dad. For so long your parents are by your side, guiding you, cheering you on and making sense of the things you don’t understand. Even as an adult they never cut the cord, they simply take a step back, never too far, always there for you as you face the things that scare the shit out of you.

There was a time in my life when I felt bitter, when I resented my dad for his lifestyle, a time when I blamed him for everything wrong in our family. My dad made a lot of mistakes in his life but he’s still my daddy, my first hero, my first love, the first man who ever loved me unconditionally and the man who brought back the love of my life. He gave me my eternal love; he gave me Mikey.

I only hope that he knows how grateful I am.

I turn to Mikey and watch as he flips through a parenting magazine, shaking his head in amazement at the article he pretends to read. I lean close to him, placing my hand on his knee and wait for him to turn his gaze to me.

“Remind me to thank my dad when we go see him,” I whisper.

“Thank him for what?” He questions, closing the magazine and taking my hand in his.

“Everything good in my life,” I reply, glancing across the room at my mother sitting in her chair reading her prayer book.

I smile at her, she took that little green book everywhere. She’s had it since I was a kid, starting every morning with a cup of coffee and a prayer to Saint Anthony. Some people pray to Saint Anthony when they lose something or when they really need something good to happen, my mom prays to Saint Anthony because her father’s name was Anthony and praying to his patron saint makes her feel close to him. She prays for our health, for our happiness and for my father. She always prays for my father.

For his sins and for his redemption.

After all, he’s her eternal love, and she’s praying they end up in the same place.

“Your phone is ringing,” Mikey whispers, brushing my hair over my shoulder, pulling me away from my thoughts. I grab my purse off the floor and sift through all the useless shit I stuff in there before pulling out my phone.

I don’t recognize the number, but it’s not the familiar numbers of creditors that are usually looking to get me. I accept the call.

“Hello?”

“Nikki, it’s daddy.”

My fingers tighten around the phone as tears cloud my vision. His voice is different; the baritone voice I remember is now hoarse and raspy—breathless.

“Nicole, are you there?”

“Yes,” I cry. “I’m here Dad.”

My mother lifts her head and her eyes peer into mine as I nod.

It’s really him.

Watching me intently, Mikey closes his hand over my knee.

“How’s my girl?”

It was a question I had heard him ask me countless times. A question I usually gave a half-assed answer to, but now it was a question that had tears uncontrollably rolling down my cheeks.

I’m not good.

I’m brokenhearted.

I’m scared of what the doctor’s going to say.

I’m scared I’m sick.

I’m scared to visit you because I know it’ll be the last time I see you.

I’m scared of losing you.

I’m scared of living without you.

I’m not good, Dad.

“I’m okay,” I lie, swallowing the lump clogging my throat and all the things I truly want to say.

“Your nose is growing,” he says, clearing his throat. “I spoke to your mom yesterday and she told me what’s been going on.”

Mikey stands and walks over to the nurse, returning with a box of tissues as he kneels before me and dries my eyes. As quickly as he wipes my tears they are replaced with new ones.

“I’m a little nervous,” I admit.

“I know you are, sweetheart, but you’re going to be fine,” he says adamantly. “You know how I know that?”

“How?” I ask, glancing across the room at my mother who was staring up above with tears running down her face.

Saint Anthony answered her prayer.

He doesn’t answer right away. I strain my ears to listen to the muffled sound of his cough and moments later his raspy voice returns.

“You’ve got a fire burning inside of you that nothing, and no one, will ever tame. You’re the most resilient girl I’ve ever known and you don’t know defeat, nothing will ever knock you down. You’re a fighter and only you determine when you’re done fighting. You’re the one in charge of that clock, sweetheart, and no one is going to count down the seconds and call you out.”

I bite my lip, listening as he draws in a deep breath. I close my eyes, envisioning him standing before me and speaking face to face instead of over the phone.

“Tell me something, Nikki, are you going to let anyone or anything call the shots in your life? Are you a fighter? Are you ready to back down?”

“No. I am a fighter and I don’t back down for anyone or anything…” I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand. “Because my dad taught me to control my destiny. You taught me how to fight for what I want.”

“And what do you want most?”

Right now more than anything I want to hug you.

“To live out my dreams,” I whisper.

“Then what are you going to do?”

“Live out my dreams,” I answer.

“That’s my girl. Don’t you forget that. No matter what, don’t you forget that,” he insists.

“I won’t,” I promise.

“I love you, Nicole,” he whispers.

“I love you too, Dad,” I sob. “I’ll see you the day after next.”

“I’m looking forward to it, sweetheart,” he says. For the first time in a long time I hear my father’s voice crack, and I know he is crying right along with me.

“Nicole Pastore?” The nurse calls.

Not ready to hang up, I feel my heart shatter even more as I lift my head and stare at the nurse.

“The doctor’s ready to see me,” I say regretfully.

“Remember who’s in charge,” he says.

“Me,” I affirm.

“That’s right.”

I don’t want to hang up,” I admit.

“Go, I will see you in a few days,” he soothes. “It’s going to be okay, Nikki. I promise you it will be okay.”

I nod as if he is standing before me, clutching the phone as though it’s my salvation.

“I’ve got to go, sweetheart,” he says. “Keep shining,” he adds before ending the call.

You see what I mean? Your parents are never too far, always stepping in right when you need them. My dad called me to remind me of who I am, instilling all the values he taught me throughout the years. I’m a fighter and I always have the last word when it comes to the course of my life. Then, when I couldn’t bring myself to hang up, he did, knowing I
needed
that too.

I’m going to miss that.

Mikey takes my hands as I pocket my phone and pulls me to my feet.

“We’ve got this, Princess,” he assures me, pressing a kiss to my lips.

“Yeah we do,” I agree, squeezing his hands before glancing at my mother. “Will you come in with us? We could always use the extra pair of ears in case we miss something or forget to ask an important question.”

“Of course,” she whispers.

Three of us physically walk into the doctor’s office but four spirits were present. My father was with me, his words fresh in my mind as I sat down and listened as the doctor read me my results. I knew then that my dad will always be with me. Even after he passes, his voice will always float around in my head, reminding me of all the things I sometimes forget, reassuring me I am Victor Pastore’s daughter and I am a fighter. Like my dad, I don’t know the meaning of defeat.

Endometriosis.

I didn’t have cancer.

And while I probably should’ve been devastated that my case was so severe and that the doctor suggested surgery, I was too relieved that I didn’t have cancer to give my illness much thought.

My mom closes her eyes and silently thanks Saint Anthony, and I close my eyes and thank my dad.

Mikey squeezes my hand tightly as he breathes a sigh of relief.

Today I was going to bask in the glory that I was okay, just like my dad promised.

Tomorrow I’d worry about the possibility of not having a child.

I’ll probably cry.

I’ll probably wish things were different.

I’ll ask myself
why me
.

What did I do to deserve this?

I’ll worry about what it means for my relationship.

But then I’ll remember my father’s words, and I’ll fight.

Because I determine the course of my life.

My dad taught me well.

Nikki rarely woke up before me. Our mornings consist of her hitting the snooze on the alarm six times before I have to drag her cute little ass out of bed. So when I opened my eyes and stared at her empty side of the bed, I knew something was wrong.

I throw my legs over the edge of the bed and pull on my basketball shorts that were haphazardly hanging off the lampshade beside our bed and went in search of my princess. Her first stop is usually the kitchen. Nikki can’t function without half a pot of coffee in her system, but I walked into an empty kitchen. She hadn’t even turned the coffee pot on yet. I flipped the switch, rubbing the sleep from my eyes as I notice the back door slightly ajar.

I push the blinds aside, spot her lying on one of the lounge chairs smoking a cigarette and make my way onto the porch. She lifts her eyes to mine and quickly crushes her cigarette in the ashtray sitting between her legs. As I walk closer to her and take a seat on the foot of the lounge chair, I see the traces of tears that stain her flawless face.

I feel like a useless fool every time she cries, but the truth is I have no idea what to do with her tears. I don’t know how to make them stop, hell, half the time I don’t even know why she’s crying. There is so much negativity circling her, pulling her in different directions and instead of making it better for her I wind up with whiplash. As soon as I think I know how to help her feel better, something else comes along and shakes everything up. Mine and Nikki’s relationship is easy, we come and go as we please, answer to no one and live life according to our own standards. There is no drama, no constant flow of issues we have to deal with, it’s been smooth sailing until now.

I lift her legs and stretch them across my lap before bending my head to place my lips against one of her knees.

“What’s going on in that head of yours, Princess?” I question, running my hands along her calves as I stare into her sad eyes.

“Nothing,” she insists, shaking her head before she forces a smile. “Everything’s peachy.”

“I might not be the brightest crayon in the box but I know when something isn’t right with you, Nikki,” I reply, holding her gaze. “Don’t shut me out because once we start pretending what affects one of us doesn’t affect the other, that’s when this thing we’re building falls apart,” I pause, reaching out to run my finger along the bridge of her nose. “We’re better than that,” I insist.